22 Short Fics About Scranton
by HalloweenJack138
Summary: The dazzling masculinity of Toby Flenderson, the dark plans of Dwight Schrute of the end of the documentary, Todd Packer speaks, Roy chooses his best man, and other odds and ends that just couldn't make up a whole fic unto themselves.
1. Automatic Midnight

_While I was working on ideas for my next big fic, I had a few ideas of for short pieces that I didn't think were strong enough to hang solo, but that might work well when sandwiched together. I might keep this as the format for all my ficlets, I don't know.  
_

**1. The Manly World of Toby Flenderson**

The waves were certainly pounding that day, but this only made things interesting for Toby.

He'd been living in this small coastal town for several years now, and he'd had more than enough time to not only learn, but to master the fine, fickle art of surfing. Fact was, most of the tourists thought he must have been on a surfboard his whole life, a misconception the locals did nothing to correct, with their many long and lurid legends of "Pops Tico." He laughed every time.

For the first time in his life, he was at home.

He allowed himself a precious second to look back towards the beach. Pam and Sasha smiled and waved back. It hadn't been easy to finally win Pam over, but he had to admit in the end, he was his only real stumbling block. Once he had worked up the nerve to tell how how he really felt, it hadn't taken too long to get Pam to appreciate what was right in front of her. As far as getting full custody, after the blockbuster success of his second book, it wasn't too hard to find a judge willing to let him rework the conditions of his divorce settlement.

Then he noticed something that made his blood boil. Twenty armed men were slowing approaching Pam and Sasha, creeping out from every crevice. He steeled his jaw, the village was generally peaceful, but every so often, some adventurous band of ruffians decided to see if he was actually as good as everyone said he was. Well, they were about to learn.

He was on the beach in the blink of an eye. Before Pam could even register that she had been in danger, every last man was strewn unconscious on the beach. Twenty men, Toby thought, pathetic.

As Pam beamed up at him with a love that bordered on worship, she noticed a strange, contemplative look on his face. "What is it?"

"While I was pummeling those thugs into submission," he said thoughtfully, "I came up with a whole new way to use my muscles."

"Really?" Pam chirped as she bounced on her heels in anticipation.

Toby nodded. "I think if I flex just right... I could use my biceps to look into alternate dimensions."

The crowd watched dumbfounded as Toby flexed his mighty arm as never before. There were "pops" and "crackles" as new muscles spewed forth into existence. Muscles upon muscles upon muscles, like some really ripped Möbius strip. Then, when Toby seemed to be so yolked that his arm seemed more like an army, the air around them shake and wavered until the space in front of them looked like a bad special effect from a crappy 60s sci-fi program.

Toby gazed into the aperture and saw himself: thin and sallow and with less hair. The other him was standing in a dull, featureless office building, which seemed appropriate as he was similarly dull and featureless. He stood in front of Pam, who didn't appear to be his wife in this reality, if the fact that he was staring at his feet while her eyes were on some boyish beanpole in the desk across from her, were any indication.

"Hey, Pam..." the other Toby muttered, barely audible.

"Do you ever wonder what life would be like if you made different choices?" Pam said suddenly, still decidedly focused on the other man. She might not have noticed Toby was there at all.

----

B.J. Novak stands in front of the camera wearing a sweater and jeans.

B.J.: If you're at a party and one of your friends o.d.'s, call 911 and say _"someone's heart has stopped." _

He stares at the camera meaningfully.

B.J.: When the paramedic's get there, tell them what they took, but... don't just say "we were all doing drugs and now I think Kim's dead," 'cos...

He shrugs.

B.J.: ...I mean, that's just stupid.

_**The More You Know.**_

_----_

_Spoiler Warning: I completely spoil the last episode of Blake's 7, a program I've never even seen. I try not to be too impressed with myself, but sometimes...  
_

**2. The End of an Office**

It was a particularly wednesday Wednesday in the Scranton office; no one seemed to be able to muster up the strength to do anything but sit at their desks and stare at their computers, and yet no one seemed to be getting any real work done.

"How do you think it's going to end?"

The question came out of nowhere, so Jim wasn't quite sure what Dwight possibly could have been referring to; but he was fairly confident it wasn't the Universe or the Time-Space Continuum, as he was sure Dwight had pretty specific ideas as to how those would end, mostly like with himself assuming a starring role.

So he bit the bullet and just asked Dwight what he was getting at.

"The documentary," Dwight gestured to the camera, as though it should have been obvious.

Jim supposed it should have, but while he could never really forget that the cameras were there, it was also kind of strange to think that all this film was going somewhere... that there would one day be a finished product. In any case, Jim could only see two possible endings: either the Scranton branch closed and everyone was out of work or the entire company closed and everyone was out of work. Most likely permanently if the documentary had again kind of larger cultural impact.

He looked at reception for a quarter of an eyeblink and replied. "The fairy tale ending. Everyone gets married and lives happily ever after."

Dwight snorted with contempt. "Only a queer would pick that ending."

Jim shrugged. "Then I guess I'm a queer."

"I want the _Blake's 7_ ending," Dwight nodded boldly.

"What is _Blake's 7_?" Jim asked in morbid disgust, realizing too late what he was getting himself into.

Dwight looked at Jim as though he were an idiot. Jim was okay with that. "The greatest science fiction series England ever gave us."

Jim nodded. "Of course."

"Maybe the best show of all time, " Dwight went on, "and in the last episode, they methodically kill off the entire cast, one-by-one."

"Fascinating," Jim said, bored.

"I can see it happening," Dwight as now quite lost in his fantasy, "I'd be standing over piles of still steaming corpses, holding back the Rebel Alliance with nothing but my spudgun and my ingenuity..."

Michael happened to be passing by, so Jim saw his out and took it. "Hey, Michael," he called and his ever-eager boss was there in seconds, "how do you think the documentary will end?"

As predicted, Michael jumped at the chance to have an audience. "Oooh! The Scooby Doo ending like in _Wayne's World!_"

Rather than asking how on earth that could possibly play out, Jim simply nodded. That was all the encouragement Michael needed.

Within seconds, Dwight and Michael were completely ensconced with recounting both Wayne's World movies (with Dwight being predictably cast as Garth and disturbingly cast as Tia Carrere) and Jim could slip away to reception.

"What are they doing?" Pam asked in bemused perplexity.

"Oh," he said softly, "we were just discussing how the documentary is going to end."

Pam nodded. She hadn't really thought of the ending before.

He smiled at her warmly as he looked deep into her eyes. "How do you think it's going to end."

Pam shrugged and broke eye-contact. Although deep down part of her knew how it was going to end, she wasn't so sure she could admit it. Just yet.

----

John: If you're writing fanfiction, and you write something you kinda think is too stupid to post... go ahead and post it anyway. You can never really tell what other people will like and that just might be the story that everyone reviews.

John jim-shrugs for the camera.

John: And yet only two people read "Cookies."

_**The More You Know.**_

----

Rainn Wilson will be back in **"Ilsa Schrute Plays It Safe."**


	2. Suicide Invoice

_Wow, great episode tonight, I don't think I've ever been more in love with Karen than when she told Jim he was the first. And Roy! I did not see that coming. Man, that was such a great episode, it inspired me to write two ficlets that could not be more unrelated to anything from the episode. Enjoy!_

**3. Dwight Schrute versus the Continental Congress of the United States of America.**

Gordon made his way to his car at a clip, absent-mindedly humming something.

It had been a good day of Ben Franklin impersonation. The children of Mrs. Berkle's Second Grade Civics class had really responded to his spirited performance; and to hear the laughter and cheers of children as they discovered learning could be fun reminded him of why he got into his business in the first place. Even better, Mrs. Berkle had slipped him her number as she handed out the microwave johnny cakes she had made specially for the occasion.

He had to smile as he thought back to way he snuck a glance down her blouse during his illustration of moveable type.

It was good day, Gordon thought again, completely unaware of mad paper salesman watching him from afar.

----

Dwight: I have been tracking Ben Franklin ever since that day he came to the office. Why?

Dwight takes another peak through his binoculars.

Dwight: For this moment.

He runs out of his place of concealment and straight for Gordon.

Dwight: Ben Franklin!

----

The battle was as long and epic as one could expect from two not-especially-in-shape men from suburban Pennsylvania with no real training in combat (Dwight's karate classes obviously not withstanding), but in the end, Ben Franklin proved to have a glass jaw.

As Dwight shakily brought himself back to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth with his tie, he couldn't help but sneer down at his fallen opponent. Ben Franklin obviously didn't know who he was messing with.

Dwight stumbled back to Thunderbird, clinging to consciousness largely out of spite, but there was a good deal of pride there as well. He reached into his glove compartment, and pulled out the copy of the Declaration of Independence he had been given by Junior Scholastic all those years ago and, with shaking hands, crossed another name off the list.

Someday, he would have to make a trip to Massachusetts and Virginia, but... for now he just wanted to bask in his victory.

----

B.J.: If you're going out with one of your coworkers and she's kind of emotional... try not to cheat on her.

He crinkles his eyes and shakes his head.

B.J.: I mean, you'll have to see her everyday and she's going to make things really uncomfortable, so... don't cheat on her.

Pause.

B.J.: Or, at least don't get caught.

_**The More You Know...**_

**4. The Schrute of Further Evil.**

Dwight had lined up his male coworkers and was pacing as he surveyed them in a way he was sure classified as "Patton-esque."

"Since my family... and my LaserTag team... have expressed certain reservations about this wedding, you..." he gave a contemptuous swipe of his arm to men arrayed before him "...are my groomsmen."

The other bold men of Dunder-Mifflin clearly didn't feel any better about the situation, but it was an honor to be asked. Really.

"Now, this is a traditional wedding," Dwight had his usual tone of unjustified authority, "which means that your job is to help me kidnap Angela, then hold her captive while I negotiate a fair bride price from her father..."

"Dwight," Jim interrupted.

"Jim, please, this is very important," Dwight patted him aside. "Now, Creed, I assume you have some sort of cabin or shed in an isolated area..."

Jim, however, was not to be deterred. "I was just wondering if it was too late for us all to wear kilts."

Dwight turned to Jim with a look of frank hatred. "Only Michael is Scottish, therefor only Michael may wear a kilt."

Jim gave the "it's-a-given"-jim. "It's just that I have the knees for it..."

"Queer," Michael snorted.

"Excuse me?" Oscar reacted.

"Eh... er... huh?"

"Guys, we need to focus on what's important," Jim said seriously, "Dwight. What kind of signal are we going to have for when a fair bride price has been reached?"

Dwight, missing the joke as usual, gave this some thought. "Well, livestock is traditional, but..."

Jim matched his tone. "So, like, two sheeps and a goat?"

Dwight considered this. "I was thinking we'd focus on food animals..."

"Angela's a vegetarian, though," Jim pointed out.

Dwight had pushed this from his mind. "Right."

"So, produce?" Jim offered helpfully.

After a few moments to silent meditation, Dwight nodded. "Yes."

Jim smiled that special smile he reserved for moments like this.

"After all," Dwight said diplomatically, "it is her day after all."

----

Jenna: I was home watching TV and I realized... I don't know if I've ever seen a whole episode of E.R.

She lets the implication set in for precious seconds.

Jenna, ticking her teeth with her finger: I really don't know how I feel about that.

_**The More You Know...**_


	3. Audit in Progress

_But wait, there's more..._

**5. Fear of Public Speaking**

In the end, all Todd Packer ever wanted was an audience. That was shy he put up with customers, Corporate, losers like Michael Scott... everyone, basically. Because, just as a woman was only useful in what she could do for him, a human being was only useful as either the butt of a joke or the audience for it.

Which was largely up to mood, circumstance, and chemical intake on Packer's part.

"...so I say 'rectum? I damn near killed him!'" he finishes his story to shocked stone silence, which he actually revels in.

This particular audience has gathered around him to hear his speech for Career Day. Packer has never considered grade school students to be his ideal audience (they could hardly ever be relied upon to provide sexual favors or intoxicants), but at least one of these children is his and he hopes that appearing here will count for something when he's arguing his way out of another child-support check.

Not that he paid them under the best of circumstances... why did they think he became a traveling salesman in the first place? Still, these things could come back to bite him in the ass if he wasn't careful.

He wondered which one of these brats was his.

He couldn't even remember what the mother looked like.

Kids all looked the same to him and, anyway, he didn't know if he was looking for a boy or a girl.

It didn't matter.

Their teacher looked pretty good, though. A few years older than he generally went for, but after a few drinks that stopped being a problem.

Better wrap this up quick if he wants to tap that and still be back on the road in time. Leave the kids with some real valuable advice.

"Remember: condoms are for cowards and homos."

That should do it. Now, see about that giving that teacher the old once-up-the-ass-and-back-to-class.

Because there's only one think Packer likes more than an audience.

----

Steve, sternly: If you're a woman, you should never go to bed with a man who doesn't love you.

Pause as he lets the gravity of the statement set in.

Steve: Unless it's me.

He bursts out chortling like a school girl who's been made to say the word "titmouse."

_**The More You Know...**_

**6. Toby's Big Chance**

Toby had never been that confident around women he was attracted to and he problem just seemed to get worse over time. His marriage (and divorce) didn't help matters, of course, neither did the tattoo above his crotch that mysteriously appeared one morning during his time in Amsterdam (later recognized as Nintendo mascot Kirby wearing a bowler and two-tone shoes while engaging in a dance apparently called "the skank"). Still, as he steeled himself for Pam to come through the door, he knew today was the day.

The fact that he had told himself this every day since Jim left could not enter his mind for a second.

The door opened and Toby sprang into action with the line had spent all night staring in the mirror and perfecting: "Morning, Pam."

She smiled. That was a good sign. "Hi, Toby."

"Um..." he hadn't planned this far ahead. What should he say now? "Nice... day, huh?"

"Yeah," Pam nodded in awkward confusion. "I mean, its pay day, right?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, "that's why I already have three cans of Mickey's in me."

Then his face fell at the death of his own joke.

"I don't really," he admitted lamely.

"I know, Toby," Pam said sympathetically.

"I was just trying to be funny," he admitted miserably.

"No, I..."

"I need to get back to my desk," Toby mumbled as he began to sink away, completely deflated.

"Okay," Pam said softly as she lightly touched his arm.

Toby's senses tingled at the incidental touch. Most men would have felt rather pathetic given that both the nature of the sympathetic touch and the tone she had employed were most often used with injured four-year-olds, but Toby claimed it as half a point.

He had no choice.

----

Rainn: Due to the difference in ranks and titles among different branches of the military, a naval "captain" outranks a "captain" in the army.

Pause.

Rainn: So if there was an emergency, Captain America would have to defer to Captain Crunch.

He shakes his head.

Rainn: It just doesn't seem fair.

_**The More You Know...**_


	4. This Mystic Decade

_I think I'm going to start getting more experimental with this one in the next few chapters. For now, more of the same!_

**7. Roy Chooses His Best Man**

It had been the weekend after Roy had finally given Pam the ring. She had gone to her parents to celebrate and Roy had taken the opportunity to have a night out with Darryl and his brother. It was a full evening, which ended with Roy more than a little wasted, which was to be expected since the three of them didn't get together to discuss Lacanian precepts over a pot of Earl Grey.

Somewhere around the third case of Mickey's Big Mouth, the subject of who ought to be the best man came up. Roy, not the most decisive of men under in any scenario, was both at a loss. He had gotten more emotional than either man was used to with drink and had taken them down to the muddy field where he had met Darryl and scored so many of his high school glories.

"You guys are my best friends..." he nearly sobbed. "Kenny, since I was born, you've always looked out for me..." he then threw an arm around each men"...and Darryl, who got me my job, introduced me to Pam..." This last was a half-truth, but Darryl wasn't about to in the mood to correct him. "I can't decide."

For a moment, he let the question hang in the air, as if hoping for divine intervention.

Then he was struck with an idea so brilliant, he swore his prayers had been answered.

"Whoever gets this beer back to me first," he stated Solomon-like as he rested a single bottle of beer in the mud between them, "gets to be the best man."

He moved what he felt was a proper distance away from them, then shouted "go!"

They faced each other like sumo wrestlers, but neither man made a move.

"Are we really doing this?" Kenny mumbled, soft enough so Roy couldn't hear.

"I'm not," Darryl replied decisively.

Kenny shared his sentiments, but "it's really important to Roy."

Darryl raised an eyebrow. "You think he's going to remember this tomorrow?"

Kenny looked down at the muddy Molsen at their feet. This did not seem like a good idea. "I don't..."

"I am not doing this," Darryl repeated.

Kenny nodded. "But then who gets to be best man?"

Darryl thought for a moment, then capitulated. "You're his brother... the job's yours."

"You're his best friend," Kenny pointed out.

Darryl scratched his beard. "You guys are pretty tight..."

"But you were the one who..." at this point they were interrupted by a loud "thhhh... pok" sound, which they both turned to face.

After thinking for a second, Darryl had an idea. "Who ever can pull him out of that thing gets to be best man."

Kenny nodded. That seemed fair enough.

----

Mindy: Girls, when you're tired of going to the same restaurants or hanging out with the same people, let your boyfriend know, but don't use the words "I think we should try something different."

Pause.

Mindy: ...Because he's always going to think you mean something else.

She shakes her head.

Mindy: And you do_ not _want to have that conversation with him.

_**The More You Know...**_

**8. Because Everyone Loves Kandy...**

Andy: Karen and me...

Nods suggestively.

Andy: We've got a groovy thing going, baby. It happened in Stamford...

Pause.

Andy: Nearly.

Pause.

Andy: Almost. And it will happen in Scranton.

He points his fingers at the camera like a pistol.

Andy: Just you watch.

----

The office was in semi-darkness and everyone else had gone home, but Karen was determined to finish these orders now rather than have them hanging over her head the whole weekend. Really, she could have been done hours ago if Andy had just had the uncharacteristic good taste to call in sick that day.

"So," he asked, hovering over her like a gnat. "got anything nasty brewing for the weekend?"

She did not let herself stop working, that would only encourage him and that was the last thing you wanted to do with Andy. "Maybe you should just go home, Andy."

"Come on," Andy hissed in a way he clearly intended to be seductive, "I know you want some Kandy."

This made Karen stop. "What?" she asked in confused disgust.

"Kandy," Andy explained lamely, "you know, Karen-Andy..."

"Oh," Karen 'oh-ed' as she resumed typing and ignoring Andy's advances. "You know I'm with Jim, right?"

Andy snorted in contempt. "But who can settle for Tuna when the menu offers a taste of real pork?" Andy sneered as he slowly removed the jacket from his suit.

Karen rolled her eyes inwardly. She had learned to express most emotions inwardly since meeting Andy, since he seemed to take absolutely any reaction as a green light for further attentions. Best to pretend he's not there at all.

Of course, Andy made this impossible with his next action. He slowly swept around Karen's desk and sat right down on it. Karen could tell he was again attempting to be incredibly smooth in his execution, but he fell short when he placed his rear directly onto the keyboard. Even as he spoke, it kept beeping from under him.

"Listen," Andy said with slow confidence, "we both know there was something between us back in Stamford."

Karen mentally took a deep breath.

"Neither of us was willing to say anything about it," he nodded with complete certainty, "but we both knew it was there."

There had been times in Stamford when Karen had wondered if Andy's brain really worked the way he presented it to the outside world, but she gave up that line thought seconds later in utter horror.

"Now you've followed me to Scranton," he smiled wider and wider until his head looked like a commode. "I think we both know why."

"Hey," Jim warmly called from the doorway, "are you ready to go?"

Karen nodded. "I was trying to get these orders finished, but I guess it can wait until Monday."

Jim looked at her sternly. "Are you about that? The number two guy of the branch has to okay every one of those and... I hear he's a real hard-ass."

Karen smiled wickedly as she put on her coat and walked over to join him. "I think I can negotiate with him."

Jim laughed and embraced her, killing the last remaining light with a hand.

"Night, Andy," Jim called, almost an after-thought.

Then they were gone, the door shut behind them, and never the embrace broken.

For a while Andy sat there, motionless and alone in the dark, still sitting on Karen's keyboard.

"Night, Tuna."

----

B.J.: If you're at a party and "Sweet Home Alabama" starts playing, ask yourself: am I from Alabama?

Dramatic pause.

B.J.: Have I ever been to Alabama?

Another pause.

B.J.: If you answer "no" to both those questions... maybe you shouldn't start singing along.

He shakes his head dramatically.

B.J.: Because everyone is going to make fun of you.

_**The More You Know...**_


	5. Thunder Down Under

_Yeah. Back when I named this one, I didn't actually expect to come up with 22 stories, but here we are, only a week in, with 11 stories and 11 PSAs.  
I quite surprised myself, actually. Here's hoping this style catches on (I call it WarioFic or Meal of Side Dishes), now, if nobody minds, I'm going to sleep.  
_

**9. Tales From The Cross-Gender Universe**

As Paul Beagle saw his boss pop out of office and towards his desk at reception, he found himself wishing for some sort of trapdoor to escape from.

For all the times he'd wished that throughout his time at Dunder-Mifflin, he was actually somewhat at a loss to explain why he hadn't broken down and built the damn thing yet.

----

Paul: "What is it like working for Michelle Scott?"

Pause.

Paul: Last week, Michelle decided we should all celebrate Mardi Gras.

He looks into the camera with pained eyes.

Paul: At the beginning of the day, she handed me an armful of beads and promised she would be "earning them back" all day.

----

Michelle buzzed over her receptionist like a particularly virulent gant. "What do you think my bra size is?"

"I... don't... know..." Paul was doing his best to shrink within himself from sheer mortification.

"Guess!" Michelle merrily insisted. "It's bigger than you think!"

"Um..."

"You know, I totally could have been a stripper," Michelle reflected proudly, jutting her hips out at bizarre angles.

Typically, it was Jill who came to the rescue. "Hey, Michelle, did you talk to Ian today?"

Michelle's face lit up. The entire company was aware of her rumored affair with Ian Levinson, just as the entire company was aware that at least 97 that it was Michelle spreading those rumors. "Did he call?"

"Well, no," Jill admitted, "but you know how some of these guys are. They wait three or four days before calling back."

Michelle nodded sagely. "Sometimes it takes a couple weeks. Or a month."

Jill returned the nod despite being consistently called the next day. "Right."

"You could call him," Paul offered.

"Do guys like that?" Michelle asked, her eyes like two hopeful puppies.

"Absolutely," Paul replied, "it takes the pressure off them."

Michelle disappeared into her office, slamming the door behind her. Paul offered her silent thanks to Jill. Sure she was something of a Sarah Plain and Tall, but there were times she made Paul almost wish he wasn't engaged.

Jill could feel the slight blush on her cheeks as she sat back down at her desk. There was something about Paul that never failed to made her glad she never made it into the WNBA. Then she caught a glimpse of Ilsa Schrute across the desk and all that positivity just drained right out of her.

"Hey, Jill," the Valkyrie across from her bellowed, "do you think there's an alternate universe where everybody is the opposite gender?"

Jill gave Ilsa the typical wrinkled nose expression of distaste. "Not a chance."

**----**

Mindy: _Never _wear socks with sandals.

Pause.

Mindy, sternly: _Ever._

_**The More You Know.**_

**10. Okay, you all knew where this one was going...**

It was her ex-husband's weekend with the children, and that always left Carol with a quiet sense of melancholy.

She loved her children more than anything else in the world, more than she could properly express, but...

In many ways they were responsible for her depression.

She didn't regret the divorce, it had been the right decision for everyone concerned, but, at the same time, she had no desire to live her life through them while she was left to die alone. But it was difficult finding love again. Most available men her age had either purposely avoided having children and thus saw hers as an unwelcome intrusion at best, while the bulk of the rest were in the same situation as her, divorced after a long period of marriage, with children of their own to focus on.

She thought of Michael.

In many ways, he had been a godsend. A successful (at least relatively) single man who not only accepted that she had children, but seemed genuinely willing to love and care for them as if they were his own. More than that, Michael and the kids had been a natural fit; while most of her boyfriends had been greeted with hostility and suspicion from the get-go, the kids had instantly latched onto Michael in a way that surprised Carol herself. Rather than being an excuse to spend time away from the house, her dates with Michael became full-fledged family outings, rich in puzzles, games, and child-like laughter. The kids still asked about him. Was she right to end it like that?

Yes.

Yes, she was.

First thing tomorrow she was going to start burning pictures and deleting emails.

She was insane for not doing it sooner.

**----**

Jenna: The "shush." It's not polite. It's pretty. But it works.

She shakes her head mournfully.

Jenna: And sometimes, you have no choice.

_**The More You Know...**_

**11. Pressure Drop.**

Michael, fighting back the tears: All good things must come to end.

He chokes back another sob.

Michael: And so must things like this.

----

Jim pulled into the parking lot with some trepidation. His time in Stamford notwithstanding, he had been pulling into this parking lot for nearly five years, but today things were completely different.

She gave him a reassuring smile. "Are you going to start by introducing yourself as a robot Martian?"

He laughed. "Hey, I'm always in favor of stealing from the industry leaders," he quipped, trying to mask his growing apprehension.

----

Jim, slowly, as if still trying to figure out how he feels about what he's saying: They have given me Michael's job.

Pause.

Jim: Yeah. Apparently the members of the Board weren't too impressed with his latest magic trick.

----

Jim's mind kept sending signals to his legs and ass, expressing a complex plan that involved switching off the radio, taking the key out of the ignition, and walking into the old familiar office building, but somehow the ability to move seemed to be unjustly impaired.

"Hey," she said, sliding her hand onto his until the smooth white gold of his ring met herself with a satisfyingly symbolic klink. "You can do this."

He nodded, he still had his doubts, but at least he knew she was with him.

Then, as if God were a DJ, Jim was given his sign, the intro that he knew he could never quite forget no matter how hard he tried. He took a good look and the woman seated across from him, then took her face in his hands and kissed her for what felt like the first time.

----

Jim: Strangely, Michael was called out of town the actual day of the wedding and Kevin's band got a better-paying job at the last minute.

He raised as eyebrow as though perplexed.

Jim: Odd.

----

"You know something, Karen?" he said, more than a little out of breath.

"Hmm?"

"This is a really good song," he whispered seriously.

Still smiling, she punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Idiot."

He nodded as he killed the radio and climbed out of the vehicle. It was a fair enough criticism.

----

Jim: Don't feel too bad for Kevin. He got over it.

He nods, smiling.

Jim: He's in a Run-D.M.C. tribute band now.

----

Kevin, as slow and monotone as usual if not more so: It's tricky to rock a rhyme to rock a rhyme that's right on time it's tricky...

**----**

Steve: Did you ever hear the saying "having your cake and eating it, too?"

Pause.

Steve, confused: What does that mean?

Pause.

Steve: I mean, is that like an "American Pie" thing? 'Cuz... that's just disgusting.

_**The More You Know...**_

**Coming Soon from Halloween Jack and Kowalski187: **Jenna Fischer, John Krasinski, and Mindy Kaling in **"Scranton Sex City"**

Roy, visibly sweating, with eyes like he just spent ten years in a room full of Dementors: I _don't_ want to talk about it.

Pause.

Roy: _Ever._


End file.
